


Happiness is a Warm Gun

by Dusty_Forgotten



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Inspired by Music
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-25
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-04-06 04:25:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4207869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dusty_Forgotten/pseuds/Dusty_Forgotten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charon's changed a bit in the years the Lone Wanderer became the Courier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happiness is a Warm Gun

**Author's Note:**

> If YouTube would acknowledge The Beatles' existence, I would have a link here.

“You drank _all_ my whiskey!?”

Charon shrugs. The Lone Wanderer- or, she used to be, probably still is, just among other things- pushing around the empty bottles stacked on the shelf. “Dammit, Charon, I was looking forward to trying all this alcohol I’ve been collecting now that I’m old enough, and you drank it _all_? Well, at least you left the wine.” She stood up with a bottle. It overflowed when the cork came off. “Oh, Jesus, is wine supposed to do that?” She took a sip straight from the bottle and gagged. “Or, taste like that?”

“You wonder why I did not drink it...” he mutters.

“Okay, maybe not wine- did I have any rum? This bartender in Freeside gave me rum, and I really liked that, especially when he mixed it with Nuka-cola.”

“You used to have rum.”

“Charon! Since when are you an alcoholic!?”

“Since you left.”

Erin wets her lips, but doesn’t bite them- a habit she seemed to have grown out of. She avoids his eyes, turning back to the shelves. “...I see my Jet’s gone, too.”

“Sold it.”

“Hope you did, otherwise we’d have words. I’ll just have to take a trip to Moriarty’s. Is Moriarty still alive?”

“As of yesterday.”

“Really? I was sure Gob and Nova would’ve murdered him by now. Well, that or an STD, filthy old man...”

She dumps the empty bottles on the floor and starts setting up weapons. “Look at this one,” she said, handing him a revolver, “called a Ranger Sequoia. You get one for 25 years in the New California Republic. Got that one off a dead Ranger vet. Shame I couldn’t get an anti-material rifle, but they’re so damn heavy- and the kickback’s so bad, I wouldn’t be able to use one, anyway.” He handed it back, and she set it on the shelf next to a few other custom revolvers. “Combat shotgun treating you well?”

“Yes.” he says a little quickly, because the machine coming out of her bag barely even looks like a gun. Is that a _brain_?

“Good, good. I found this really cool hunting shotgun I thought you’d like to try, but the guy was a total collector, wouldn’t trade it for anything but Dogmeat.”

“What became of the dog?”

Erin glanced at him, and smiled, sadly. “Shot. Saved him, but he limped bad. Met this really nice guy with a cyberdog, brain degrading from the biogel. So in a way, Dogmeat’s still alive. Just with a guy that calls him Rex.”

He nods. She organizes weapons.

The jukebox is playing something particularly not-foul today. He recognizes the song- from a long time ago, but he knows it. _Need a fix ‘cause I’m goin’ down. Down to the bits I left uptown. I need a fix ‘cause I’m goin’ down._

“Mother superior jump the gun...” Charon murmurs.

“Hm?” Erin questions.

The ghoul stays leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Where did you procure this?”

“What, the holotape? Old record shop in the midwest. I thought you’d like this one, ‘cause it’s got that “Happiness in a warm gun” thing you say. You heard it before?”

He nods, very slowly. He remembers when the song came out.

“Happiness,” he sings along, quietly, but the Lone Wanderer hears, and smiles, “Bang bang, shoot shoot...”


End file.
